Crippled Magic
by svelte
Summary: The last dragon egg has been stolen. A young woman has fled from her home to reveal the truth that which is unbeknownst to Eragon.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Trilogy, nor will I ever. I only own the characters Silde, Éryuin, and the servant. Have fun reading, even if it really is over-dramatic.

* * *

It was dark; corridors were lit with torches that with their brilliance blinded. The night was old. Now, even the guards were sleeping, yet two figures were hastily wending their way through the palace. They were clothed in black hooded cloaks as if to mirror the late hour that it was.

Two doors barred the cloaked beings' way. The large, spelled padlock on said door seemed to be no match for one of the black clad figures. Slender, feminine hands reached out to pass over the lock. Words were whispered like the wind. Immediately afterward, there was an audible click from the lock and it became undone.

"I would come with you," a deep male voice said with a questioning tone. The voice seemed to be laced with pain, unconquerable pain.

The determined female pulled back the hood of her mantle to reveal a pale face and a pair of startlingly dark eyes that tried to hold back tears. Even her magic, she knew, would not heal the ache she felt. Hair as black as the night framed her narrow face and continued down past her waist - she was beautiful; there was no denying that. Yet the sadness had somehow marred her beauty. There were silver lines that ran down her cheek, as if a claw had done such vengeful work. If one were to look long enough at the scars, they would be able to see through the cheek. Maturity gleamed in the young woman's eyes of one who was maybe seventeen, but no older.

"Your presence would bring the assurance that I need for such an act as I am to perform." She spoke as if she were singing, with a lilting voice that rang pleasantly in the ears. Her voice sounded superficial, like forced jollity.

Her companion held out his hand and caressed her face, lightly passing his thumb over the cobweb-scars on her cheek. He dropped his arm to his side and pushed back his cloak to rest his hand on the hilt of a sword that lay in a leather scabbard.

The two walked unfalteringly forward, into darkness. The man could not see the shining silver light that the woman could in the middle of the treasure room; he muttered a few words and a ball of light appeared in his hand to be his guide in the dark room.

Pace quickened, the woman reached the center of the room. Locked in a golden cage that was surrounded by dozens of spells, was a silver dragon egg. It looked so vulnerable there on a dais, yet it was the most formidable thing that the woman had come across.

Unlike with the door to the treasury, she kept her hand on the cage, as did the man next to her. Words rolled effortlessly off of her tongue, but after what seemed a long while, she was still trying to unlock the cage and small beads off sweat gathered at the top of her forehead.

Both could hear nearing footsteps. The guards knew they were there in the treasury.

"Silde!" the man whispered urgently to the woman.

She did not hear his words, for without a sound, the cage had opened. Again, those slender hands reached out. Her heart beat madly, not for the oncoming men-at-arms, but for the egg that she was about the lift up. Once she was able to lift it out of the cage, she cradled it to her chest and peered at her companion.

"Leave, Silde!" he whispered. "You know how to escape. Leave!" He unsheathed his sword, and it shone black. The engraving down its blade was unclear, but he knew it by heart. Zar'roc. Misery.

Silde took one look at him and turned her head to the path before her. Now there was another reason why her heart beat so wildly. What would happen to the brave man? Would he fight? Or would he use his authority, as he should?

The guards were now shouting as they opened the doors. Up at the front of the line was Galbatorix. Silde had already gone.

"I tried to get here before he fled, Galbatorix-elda," the man said, shielding Zar'roc. "I was too late. He's gone. The last dragon egg is gone."

* * *

Silde traveled as fast as she could through a series of trapdoors and dark, elongated hallways. Several thoughts crossed her mind. What of her companion? What if he tried to fight? She did not let any tears fall from her stinging eyes as she pondered. 

Somehow, she made it to the rendezvous point. A servant waited with a horse for her. He was patiently whispering to the mare as Silde neared them. The horse struck the ground with its hoof and rolled one eye toward Silde. It would have been comical if Silde weren't so frightened of the great beast. She swallowed her fear and approached the servant first.

"Thank you," she murmured without taking her eyes off of the horse. The mare jutted her muzzle forward and nodded into Silde's shoulder. The gesture from the horse startled the young woman, but she calmed quickly and tentatively held out her hand next to the creature's head.

The servant laughed and passed Silde the reigns. "Take good care of her. Her name is Éryuin," was all he said before he walked away.

She eyed Éryuin and carefully led the mare to a mounting point. Silde tucked the dragon egg in one of the saddlebags that rested on Éryuin's side and climbed up a boulder. The round surface of the rock made her stumble a few times, but she made it to the top.

Her next daunting task was to mount the patient mare. With not too much ease, Silde placed her booted foot out against Éryuin's side and swung herself around the great body; she was very close to flying over the horse.

Silde was afraid Éryuin would buck, but she did not. The young woman patted the horse's head cautiously.

"Well, Éryuin, do you know which direction The Varden is?"

It would be a long ride, surely, but she was willing to do it. She wanted to succeed for him. Murtagh.

* * *

There it is, the first chapter! Buwahahaha! I hope I didn't burn your eyes out. I haven't read "Eragon" in a long time and I need to reread "Eldest." It's a pity that I don't have a copy of "Eragon." If anyone would like to give me tips/criticism, I would sorely appreciate it! I don't really remember the description for Zar'roc too, so don't bash my head too much. I will continue this story if I get enough reviews, or any really. Oh! If anyone would like to be my beta if I continue this story -crosses fingers and squeezes eyes shut- then please e-mail me. You will receive cookies and lots of cyber hugs from me! Not to mention, you would be able to read the next chapter before anyone else!

May your typing muscles forever prosper,

-_Svelte_


	2. Mending and Making Bonds

It was one month after the long battle that had crushed Eragon. He was still in a daze; the news of Murtagh's capture was still hard to bear, but hearing from Murtagh's own lips that Galbatorix was mentoring him, and no less, that Murtagh was Eragon's brother! How painfully his head throbbed with the pressure of it all, and how heavily his heart weighed!

A miserable looking boy leading an equally unhappy horse meandered down the tortuous path that the forest made. Eragon could see the way the boy's clothes hung limply from his shoulders as if he had not eaten a good meal in a while. He could also detect a slight lump from under his tunic, and the arm that rested at his side with a bone almost jutting out from the skin. Every so often, the boy would mutter quietly to himself or to the horse - Eragon could not guess. Even so, the boy drew nearer every second and Eragon knew he couldn't crouch behind the bushes and stay hidden much longer.

Eragon clutched his bow and stood up. "You there!" he called out cautiously.

The boy cursed and looked up from his injured arm, shifting his hold on the lump under his tunic. He looked even more nervous than the horse that shifted its hooves and whinnied anxiously. He tried to lead the mare as fast as he could away from Eragon, but when his strides jolted the arm at his side he cried out in pain and stopped, biting his lip so hard that it leaked blood.

Eragon strode over to the boy with a worried expression and put his bow down before holding his hand out to the broken arm. "Calm yourself," he said when the youth flinched under his touch, "I might be able to heal you."

Now partially cowed, the boy tightened his grip on the bump under his clothes and let Eragon's hand be. When Eragon murmured words in the Ancient Language, the boy relaxed. But his relaxation was soon over as the bone reset itself and he made shouts of agony.

Eragon winced as the boy voiced his pain. He knew what it felt like to live so long with an ache, and he had been grateful to the elves that relieved the pain.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Um… Duvir, sir." His hesitation made Eragon slightly suspicious, but he cast that notion aside quickly.

"I'm Eragon." The way Duvir's eyebrows rose made Eragon laugh.

"Then I'm to show you this, Shadeslayer." He lifted up his tunic carefully and took out what Eragon least suspected the boy would reveal, a silver dragon egg. When Eragon reached out for it, it began to crack in the boy's hand. He looked at it fearfully and put it on the forest floor. It continued to crack and when a silver head appeared from the mess of membrane and egg, it screeched in triumph.

"Touch it on the head, Duvir," Eragon said as he took the boy's hand.

As soon as Duvir's hand rested on the baby dragon's head, he yelled again in pain, for the third time since Eragon had met the boy. When the boy pulled back his hand, he stared glass-eyed at a mark that appeared in his palm.

"Gedwëy ignasia." The words rolled off each of their tongues in unison. Eragon stared at the mark on Duvir's palm and smiled.

"I shall teach you. But first, come to our campsite and tell me your story."

* * *

They made an interesting party indeed. An elf, a human, and a dwarf sat around a fire, the human occasionally prodding the kindling beneath the flames with a small branch in what appeared as irritation. All three looked up as they heard Eragon' approach. The elf woman started to speak when she saw what followed Eragon. 

Duvir patiently led his mare by the reigns. The assessing glance that the elf woman gave him made him feel like squirming.

"That's an Elven horse," he heard her say to Eragon. He nodded as a reply.

"Welcome Duvir and his dragon that he has yet to name," Eragon announced. The surprise was welcome to Eragon's company. Now, they could battle against Murtagh and Galbatorix evenly. But could this skinny, under-nourished boy defeat a man who studied far longer than he had? Could he defeat an opponent that even Eragon with all his training could not win over? This youngling would certainly battle Murtagh and not Galbatorix, but could he survive?

The other four cast Duvir expecting glances and he was pushed forward by his own horse. He looked small and fragile for a boy and he was still clutching his arm, as if unused to having his bone mended.

"Duvir, this is Roran, my brother." Eragon motioned to the only other human in the circle. His appearance frightened Duvir; the man looked like he hadn't shaved in months and he was haggard with a haunted perseverance in his eyes. To top it all off, he had a large, slightly dented hammer sitting beside him. Duvir could only imagine how many bones it had broken and how many lives and blood it had spilled.

The dwarf was introduced as Orik, who gave a harrumph when Eragon commented on his steadfastness. Duvir smiled at Orik cautiously, wide-eyed at his strange encounter. A human, a dwarf, a rider, and an elf! Strange times indeed.

When Eragon named the elf woman, he had said her name carefully, as if treading on a frozen lake, yet he said it with such a passion that even the boy could decipher the look Eragon gave her.

Arya. The name fit her well. Green eyes stared from her pale face to sternly glance about Duvir's person and the small mass of membrane and scales atop one of his hands. It was obvious that the youth's pitiful attempt to clean the dragon with his tunic had not been sufficient enough to stop Arya's look of slight disapproval. She did not smile, but the boy could tell she was pleased that a new rider and dragon had come.

All of a sudden, there was a great gust of wind, and the flapping of wings. The youngling in Duvir's hand squeaked a hello as a giant blue-scaled dragon appeared a little ways beyond the camp. She looked smug, if a dragon could.

"And Saphira," Eragon said proudly.

_Welcome young one._ Duvir jumped and almost dropped the youngling, who gave a protesting peep to the movement, but quickly calmed once Saphira's eye rested on it. Saphira nodded approval then turned to look at Eragon. It was clear that they were holding a conversation.

Duvir hastily, when no one was looking, rubbed the young dragon's head with his tunic to clean it. It tried to bite the boy's hand, but he had deft fingers and he managed to avoid the chance to bloody his hand.

"Duvir" - the sudden attention made him jump, again - "we shall start training tomorrow. For now, rest. Eat. Feed your dragon. Name him, or rather, ask him of his name."

The youth nodded and stared at the reptilian figure he held after secluding himself from the rest of the group. "What's your name?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

There was no answer from it.

"What's your name?" he asked louder this time. It cocked its head to the side, confused, yet not. More… expectant.

"Oh, I understand now. Uh… Trithorn?" The dragon stared at him. "Flower?"

This time, the youngling gave him such a look of horror, that Duvir knew his wrong. "You're a he, aren't you…Bid'Daum?"

_Yes._ And the dragon had a satisfied look as if he had taught the boy something new. The screech Bid'Daum emitted next signaled Duvir that it was time for supper.

Roran had gone hunting - the thought of the large rabbit he had caught dying from a blow to the head crossed Duvir's mind and made him shiver. The animal was roasting over the fire, giving off a tantalizing smell as fat oozed off of the meat and fed the eager flames.

Duvir noticed, somehow between salivating and quieting Bid'Daum as he was fed scraps of raw meat, that Arya the elf woman and Eragon did not look at the cooked rabbit as the others did. They were content with the berries and strange bread that Arya had gotten from a pack that she placed next to her.

When Orik announced the meat was ready, Roran sliced off bits of it with his knife and passed them out between he, Orik, and Duvir. Once Duvir had had his share, he distanced himself again, bringing Bid'Daum with him. He took off his tunic and shaped it as a pillow, which the dragon nestled into, leaving him in a long -sleeved shirt; he turned his back to the others when he laid himself down. Two seconds later, he was asleep, and dreaming of the training tomorrow.

* * *

At first, Silde was calm, but then the shock and terror sank in. Éryuin, with her long strides, patiently kept pace as the woman riding her wept. Silde stared at her gloved hands and tore off the cloth with such a violent jerk that her thigh hit the saddlebag. It was then that she remembered why she was where she was and that she needed to placate herself. 

"Murtagh forgive me," she whispered. Then it started to rain.

* * *

The inn was filled to the brim with travelers straggling in, shaking out their hats and taking off their cloaks to lay near the fire. 

Silde had situated herself on a barstool, keeping to herself and sipping an exotic brew of tea. Éryuin had been given the best stall in the stable after they hands took one glance at the Elven horse. Silde knew that the dragon egg was safer with Éryuin then with herself.

She was lost in her thoughts when a man sauntered up to her, clearly drunk.

"Are you one of 'em elfish women? I hears they enjoy a-companying a man to 'is room. Eh?"

Silde closed her eyes and did her best to ignore the man, taking a longer drink from the mug of tea that she held in her hands.

"I'd be talkin' to yer, missy! A wench answers a genteel man when addressed."

She put the mug down on the well-worn wood and took a couple of deep breaths. "Sir, I implore you to leave me be. I have no interest in you nor the drink that taints your breath."

The man sputtered, spittle projecting from his mouth. "You whelp!" he said with rage as he raised a fist to strike.

His blow was blocked by the firm grip of another. "I would recommend you bid a fair night to this lady _now_. Also, you might want to visit the apothecary for the raving headache you will have in the morning," Silde heard a different voice say.

The man stiffened, trying to force his arm from the other's grip. But when he couldn't, he pivoted and stalked off after the other had let go of him.

Silde rubbed her eyes, and looked up to a pair of gray eyes, smiling gray eyes. How nice, a savior.

* * *

A/N: The writing about Silde happened prior to Duvir meeting Eragon, in case anyone got confused. Anyway...Yay! Chapter 1! Review, review, review!


	3. Introductions

_Hello again, faithful reviewers! Sorry it took so long to update - I've had so much going on lately and everything's been really hectic. This chapter isn't as pleasing as the other two, but I'm so out of it... **Once again**, I do not own the Inheritance Trilogy, and if I did, I would be rich, which I am not, sadly.  
_

* * *

"I am called Vlad," the man with the stormy gray eyes said. He was a charismatic, suave looking man with auburn colored hair, a couple of years Silde's senior, perhaps. 

Silde shifted in her seat slightly, contemplating on the situation at hand. Was she rescued only to be riled again and this time by her savior? The kindness in the man's eyes told her no.

"My name is Silde," she replied tentatively, as Vlad took the seat beside her.

He clasped his hands together and ordered a mug of hard cider before he turned to talk with her. "Now, Miss Silde, what is a young woman like you, with your fine clothes and features, doing in a travelers' rest?"

The loud thud of the barmaid settling down Vlad's beverage was not even heard by Silde as she pondered what she was to say to the man. He _seemed_ trustworthy, but she had to keep on her guard in the case that he was devious and subtly sly. She was still musing moments later, when Vlad furrowed his eyebrows in interest and humor.

"Miss Silde, I did not intend to ask a difficult question of you. Very well, it shall be left unanswered."

His words startled Silde a bit, but she smiled. "On the contrary, Vlad, I am but a simple merchant's daughter, sent out to promote her father's sales." She was pleased with her answer, but she knew the intelligent man before her would not mistake it for the truth. But he did not comment or show any notion of disbelief.

"A merchant's daughter," he repeated. "And have you anywhere to stay for the night?"

Silde looked at him crossly, with her eyebrows furrowed. Vlad immediately waved his hands in front of his face in innocence.

"Miss Silde, I have a wife and… three children! Please do not think that I am trying to seduce you in any way - my wife would be very glad to have feminine company, is all. I've heard too, that the inn is full in occupancy."

Silde pondered his offer, tracing a stain on the table with her pointer finger. She had no money, she realized, and she could not obtain a room even if she _could_ pay for it. She had spent the last of her coins on the two inns before and for Éryuin's care. It would be nice to be in a family environment, she decided.

"Then I shall except, if you would be so kind," she said cautiously as Vlad drained his mug of cider.

* * *

The path was a swirling vortex of darkness for a long time. Duvir ran as fast as he could, never really gaining any distance, but he didn't want to stop. He couldn't. He couldn't control his rapidly beating heart and his feet, which moved as if of their own accord. His lungs were about to burst and he could feel his thighs turn to jelly. It was horrible. He lost something, he knew. What is it, he thought. His knees buckled and he fell forward, falling through the black whirlpool. He felt a strong breeze rush past him, as if he were falling from the sky. The pounding of hooves reached his ears as he fell bodily onto hard ground. He felt his body crush against the earth, his bones puncturing every soft, fleshy part of his body as if they were daggers. The break in his arm was worse than it was before Eragon had tended to it. Duvir was still alive when he cried no tears. The sound of nearing horses was all that Duvir heard, even through his pain. 

Men in the black and blue livery from Galbatorix's palace rode atop frothing horses - stallions and geldings. Duvir shivered and held up his broken wrist to cover his eyes and to try to protect himself from the oncoming men-at-arms. The man at the front swung out his sword from a plain leather sheath, blood lust in his bright yellow eyes. Just as the hilt of the man's sword was about to slam upon his head, Duvir found himself in different surroundings.

A pale, lithe young woman fretted over a small-boned Elven mare, using a currycomb to brush her mane until it shone smooth. The woman held an apple behind her back and fed it to her horse-companion after finishing with the grooming and circling her arm around so the horse could nibble it. She laughed, worry lines unfolding themselves and evening her features into a radiant smile. Her face blurred. Duvir felt his head hit something hard and it became black again.

* * *

Duvir opened his eyes reluctantly as the sun shone in full force, trying not to remember his terrifyingly real dream. He mind was abuzz with thoughts he couldn't place. His head hurt so much. He realized that he couldn't remember anything from before he met Eragon. "Who am I?" he whispered aloud. 

Everyone else had awoken already, and he could tell that it was almost midday. He stretched while lying, and looked over to where Bid'Daum should have been. He wasn't there. Only the threadbare tunic showed any sign that the baby dragon had been there. The youth began to worry as he quickly rose and dusted himself off - not that it helped much, seen as how Duvir looked and smelled as if he hadn't had a decent bath in at least three months.

Duvir looked around and saw no one. Orik and Roran had probably gone off hunting, Duvir figured, and Arya and Eragon were perhaps training together. He figured that Saphira was somehow mentoring young Bid'Daum - maybe showing him how to catch prey so when the time was right the youngling could manage feeding himself. Duvir scowled slightly and decided to explore around the camp area. He severely hoped for a stream of sorts so he could at least dunk his head in the water and wash away the lice the made his head itch. He noticed, as he made his way along a dirt trail, that his black hair had grown long and decided to cut it, even if he wasn't able to find a stream.

About a fifteen-minutes' walk away from the camp, Duvir found a small pond with clear water. Not a thing disturbed the pristine surface but an occasional autumn leaf that fell and caused calming ripples on the water's surface. He hoped there was sand on the bottom to rub in his hair and rid it of the grit.

He took off his clothes quickly, finding the air a tad chilly. When he waded to the middle, he found that his feet touched the bottom. Sadly, there was no sand, but mud; he scrubbed away quickly, feeling his body stiffen from the cold.

When he was dressed and comfortably damp, with shorter hair (thanks to a small, flat-bladed dagger he kept sheathed and belted around his thin waist), he walked back to the camp and found everyone eating their midday meal.

"Good day, Duvir," Eragon said politely.

Duvir muttered a shy reply as he took his helping of dried rabbit meat from Orik that was left over from the night before.

Once Eragon had finished his healthy meal of an assortment of nuts and the strange bread that Duvir recognized from last night, Eragon beckoned the boy over to him.

"You have yet to tell me your story," he said quietly but firmly.

Duvir shifted his feet, making circles in the dirt with his left foot that was bare. "I… I come from the palace where the rider king lives. I think I was a servant there for several years." He paused, licking his bottom lip in thought and furrowing his eyebrows in distress. He couldn't remember anything, just as it was when he woke up. "I was given the dragon egg by someone... I cannot remember their name or face. I only know that it was dire for me to bring Bid'Daum to you. I cannot remember anything," he said exasperatedly. "It's all a strange haze." He stopped and looked up from his foot in hope that Eragon would not prod him to continue.

Eragon had smiled at his charge's dragon's name; at the same time, he realized that it might have symbolized something - a youngling choosing the name of the first dragon that had a rider…

When Duvir had mentioned his lack of remembrance, Eragon frowned. Has he amnesia? he thought.

"Can you explain the Elven horse, Duvir?" Eragon asked to Duvir's chagrin.

"I don't know how I ever obtained such a beautiful mare. Éryuin is her name."

"How-" Eragon began to ask Duvir how he knew the horse's name but he stopped in order to keep Duvir from distress.

"Her name means Sender, Duvir. That is the first word I shall teach you from the Ancient Language." Eragon knew that Duvir's story had gaps in it, but eventually, he was sure that the boy would tell him the full story when he regained his memory. For now, the story was at least plausible.

"Thank you, Shadeslayer," Duvir murmured in reply.

* * *

Vlad's wife was a lovely, plump woman who was around the age of Silde. She was rosy-cheeked with auburn hair and intelligent green eyes. When she first greeted Silde to their "humble" abode which wasn't much more than wood piled together to make a precarious home, Gelda, Vlad's wife, held a baby on her hip and with her free hand, wrestled her arm from a little boy's grip. Behind her, an emerald-eyed girl who looked to be about three years old clung to Gelda's apron strings. Silde smiled sweetly to them. 

Vlad had explained to Gelda that Silde was a guest. Gelda's eyes had widened, taking in the finery of the woman's clothes - which were muddied and slightly torn, but still in excellent condition - and the delicacy of her features, but she said not a word in contradiction and instead welcomed her inside.

It was a shoddy living arrangement, but Silde took a liking to the coziness she felt with the small family. The little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth and looked up at Silde with wide eyes, a shy smile tugging at one corner of her lips. Her brother yanked at Silde's billowy sleeve and offered her a small, semi-stale loaf of bread with a withered piece of jerky. Silde accepted the tyke's offer with a generous smile.

After a few moments' thought and several bites later, Silde pondered how to pay for Éryuin's arrangements at the travelers' inn. Just a night's feed and housing for the Elven horse cost several copper coins. As it was, Silde had given her last few to the stable hand, who assured that Éryuin would be well taken care of. If the inn's owner ever entertained the thought that a beautiful and surely _expensive_ Elven mare had been abandoned, there was no way Silde could ever retrieve Éryuin. The thought tightened her chest; she had learned to love the chestnut horse who had been her only true companion on the road. Éryuin's undying patience slowly taught Silde how to become an excellent rider, and Silde valued her immensely.

"Miss Silde, you look troubled," Gelda observed inquisitively as they took seats. Gelda had poured water into a wooden cup for Silde to drink from.

"I was thinking of my horse, is all." She smiled absently. "Please, just call me Silde."

Vlad perked up at the mention of a stable animal. "A horse? Why, we have a barn, if you need a stall for it." He was careful with his words so he wouldn't offend the obviously higher-born woman who had accepted his offer once before.

Silde's face lit up in a glowing smile. "I-I would be grateful. I owe you much in my debt. I promise that I shall repay you in some way."

Vlad chuckled and nodded. "There's no need for that."

"Then I shall help you in your daily chores? I need something for my idle hands. I will do any task that you need me to perform. I am much more durable than I seem."

Gelda smiled and took Silde's hand in her calloused ones from across the table where she sat. "Of course," she said, interrupting her husband who had opened his mouth to speak. "You may help me cook and watch the children as they do their chores in the morning. You may work until your heart is content. My husband will take you to the travelers' inn in the morning to get your horse. For now, you should rest and eat. You look dreadfully tired."

Silde acquiesced after much protesting and was led to a hammock, in the corner of the large one-room house, to sleep on. She didn't even feel her head hit the netted material - she was asleep so fast.

* * *

The next morning, Silde woke to the sound of rain splashing on the roof. 

_Tap! Tap!_

She stretched out in the hammock and yawned as widely as she could without dislocating her jaw bone. After a quick speculation of the room, she found that everyone was awake. Gelda was frying meat and humming to herself over the constant tapping of rain. The little boy and girl were playing a game of "rock, paper, scissors" together. Vlad was not inside; Silde gathered he was taking care of the animals in their barn. She rolled herself out of the hammock and greeted everyone with a "Good morning."

Gelda smiled, taking the cooking pan off of the flames and dishing out the meat and - from what Silde saw - a strange combination of vegetables. The children squealed with delight at sight of the breakfast. Gelda motioned Silde over to the table then tended to the baby, feeding her cow's milk and bouncing to the sides ever so slightly as she held the baby.

Silde couldn't remember anything tasting so delicious. The meat was tender and practically melted in her mouth. The vegetables complemented the meat nicely. All in all, Silde finished her plate in a matter of minutes and kicked back with a contented sigh.

Vlad entered the house just as the children finished their meal. He looked a tad disheveled and was sopping wet, but he had a broad fool's smile on his face.

"Silde," he said between mouthfuls of food and drink, "I should have you know that I went to the inn this morning and obtained your mare. She's a beauty, I must say."

Silde ran out of the home after saying a polite "Excuse me," and getting directions to the family's barn. Vlad had many acres of land from what Silde could see. Once she reached the barn - which was a large, fantastic structure - Silde flung one of the doors open and rushed to the first stall which held Éryuin.

After much petting and hugging, Éryuin whickered and licked Silde's glove-covered hand, demanding a treat. Vlad had generously supplied an feeding bag with a mixture of oats and dried apple bits that Silde held up to Éryuin's mouth. As Éryuin ate to heart's content, Silde combed the mare with a currycomb, each stroke taking pressure off of her mind. When Éryuin and Silde finished their tasks, Silde walked back to the house with a bright smile plastered to her face.

* * *

"This is Ciry, my lovely daughter," Vlad explained as he rubbed the head of a russet-curled three-year-old. Ciry held out her arms. Silde tilted her head to the side as Vlad laughed. "She means for you to pick her up. You do know how to hold a child, don't you?" 

Silde blushed and tentatively picked up the gray-eyed girl, who amiably hugged the young woman.

"Ilva's my grownup son." Vlad patted the shoulder of the little boy who looked up with proudly defiant green-gray eyes.

"The infant girl is Ahna, whom you won't have to worry about, seen as how Gelda will be taking care of her." He paused, smiling. "Ciry, Ilva, behave for Miss Silde. Da is going to go out to the barn to take care of the animals and till the vegetable patch."

Ciry looked up from Silde's shoulder to her father and asked, "Can I feed the chicks later? Please, Da?"

Vlad laughed heartily, and with a nod left to tend to the everyday chores.

* * *

"Are you ready Duvir?" The young boy nodded, holding his branch before him and swaying from side to side. Eragon laughed heartily. 

"Shall we run over this again?"

Duvir nodded again, embarrassment clear across his red cheeks.

"You hold your sword like _this_. You must keep your feet planted firmly on the ground; don't sway to and fro, Duvir." Eragon corrected Duvir with patience, and when the boy was finally ready, they practiced with their play-swords, lunging, parrying, ducking.

Duvir lost the first couple of times, barely used to the feel of the heavy wood in his hands. During their fifth round, the youth got the feel of each block, each thrust. He smiled, sweat drenching his brow, then winced, as Eragon's magically dulled sword pinched into his side.

"Watch from every angle. That's enough for today, Duvir."

"Yes, Ebrithil."

Eragon had taught Duvir a few words from the Ancient Language, something the youth latched onto quickly. He loved the feel of the words as they rolled off of his tongue, round and lilting.

So, far, he loved everything about Eragon, his Ebrithil.

* * *

_Whoo! Another chapter. Reviews and critique are welcomed with opened arms!_

_ Svelte  
_


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